


ice bath pt. 2

by somekindofseizure



Series: WTID Supplemental Reading [13]
Category: The Fall (TV 2013), The X-Files
Genre: F/F, Ice Play, WTID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 20:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14172582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: Hope some other people enjoy the fruits of ice bath anon wrapping me around her little finger/tattooed ankle.





	ice bath pt. 2

They bookend Stella’s sofa in her thickest, warmest, least fuckable bathrobes, the thermostat jacked so high she can smell it. She quells the unshakable chill in her bones by hugging her body in a tight cocoon of terry cloth and throw pillow.

Stella’s nose hovers over a glass of Scotch like a seabird waiting for the tide, her eyes on the giant ice cube at the center of the glass. She swirls her glass, paints the glassy surface in an amber glaze. Scully’s always known Stella to take her Scotch neat and considers this one lone rock a softening, a concession to Scully’s abstention, the virgin glass of water she rehydrates herself with between cuffs of the bathrobe sleeve.

“I feel badly about the chill.”

“I was going to stay in there just as long with or without you.”

“If you say so.”

“But we probably shouldn’t have done that,” Scully says and Stella looks slightly stricken, swallows a hard gulp of booze that Scully knows is the complex knot of propriety that moves with as much ease and as much guilt as a thermostat switch. Scully quickly clarifies.

“You’re not supposed to do anything aerobic for three days in order to give the heart time to repair itself.”

“They don’t mean sex.”

“Of course they do, do you know how many people a year die during sexual intercourse?”

“Provide me the answer to that question and our friendship is over.”

“I can’t believe I was able to come surrounded by ice cubes.”

“Really?” Stella asks and tilts her head. She is a very difficult person to surprise but for some reason… Scully decides to, has no choice to bite really, not with Stella dangling the bait off the edge of her jutted lower lip.

“Yes, really, why do you say ‘really’ like that?” Scully says, bracing herself. Stella shrugs into her drink, flicks the question she no doubt intentionally provoked with a dip of one shoulder.

“You’ve done that before?” Scully asks, not wanting to play into this particular game but unable to resist the truth here, a bit of reassurance. A fleeting, endorphin-charged surge of rageful jealousy passes over her like a camera flash, clicks in her ears and sends a hard blink into her eyes. Stella has a way of making her feel like the world revolves around her, around them, around the strange unique power of their connection, but she also has a way of occasionally making Scully feel as though all of that is pretend, part of her charm.

“No, not in an ice bath specifically,” Stella says more sincerely. “But the ice cubes, well that’s fairly standard as far as your standard kinks go.”

Scully quickly flips through her inner kama sutra, various issues of Cosmo, some Kim Basinger movies.

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have done ice cubes,” and here her eyes wander, sparkle suddenly, “With men, mainly come to think of it.”

Scully hates hearing about Stella’s men when it’s something she can’t compete with. And she feels especially competitive on days where she’s run twenty six point two miles fast enough to pass some men ten years her junior, men trying to edge her to the curb with their elbows. None of those particular men are here, she reminds herself, none of those men (probably) (maybe not that surely) are even in Stella’s past.

“Tell me,” she says, allowing one bare foot out of the safe confines of the bathrobe to jab Stella’s leg.

“Use your imagination.”

“I have no imagination, I’m a scientist.”

Stella rolls her eyes and when she lifts her chin off toward the back of the room, debating whether to bless Scully with this explanation, Scully notices the faint shine up the tendons of her neck, the way her hair sticks like sucked straw to her skin around the edges. All of that ripples as she sighs. 

“You perform fellatio with either an ice cube in your mouth or having just been in your mouth.”

“You… suck it? With the ice cube? How does it fit?”

“My, you have been lucky. This is very dull, let’s change the subject.”

“How does it work with women?”

“Well, that’s less dull but wholly inappropriate considering you just warned me you could have a heart attack.”

And Scully’s eyes have drifted down Stella’s neck to her faintly freckled chest, the shadows over her ribs like vertical blinds between the curtains of fabric. She could just… just lean over and lick the beads of sweat from their tenderly ordered rows… but her hip is killing her, and that thing about the heart is absolutely true, so she tries to look Stella back in the eye.

“You can just… tell me,” she says, “How you think would work.” She means telling as opposed to doing, she means it as a downgrading of stakes, a lowering of the current temperature that is settling into sofa cushions around them. But the words escape so sneakily that Stella smiles with her eyes, breathes with her whole body, and Scully can already see that telling in this case will be just as dangerous as the doing.

“You don’t want to be my first?” Stella asks and Scully involuntarily clutches her heart. Yes, still there.

Stella gulps the rest of the Scotch and picks up the oversized cube with her fingertips.

“You shrink it, first of all,” she says, tonguing it and then putting it in her mouth. First her lips pucker to make room and then she lets it drift to one cheek like a jawbreaker candy or… or the other thing. “Get it to where you can manage it.”

And then there is a silence the length of a Shakespearean first act as Stella manages her ice cube. Over and over, she turns it in her mouth, watching Scully watch her, waiting for Scully to dare interrupt. Scully almost turns away, feels as though she’s watching two neighbors make love through a window. It’s mindshiftingly inanimately intimate. She cannot look away, cannot figure out what to say, cannot steal the joy Stella is taking in her power over this moment, so she sits and sweats into the white cotton robe, tugging the V at her chest a little wider. Her thighs tighten but no longer ache as the lust oozes over her muscles like some mythic panacea.

“I would think it would be uncomfortable,” Scully manages to weakly whisper. “For the receiver.”

Scully is turned on to the point of embarrassment. Five minutes ago, she wasn’t even sure anybody in London knew the basic use of an ice cube, much less how to get someone off with one. 

“The cold is balanced by the heat of your mouth,” Stella says, losing a consonant here or there. “And of other things, I would imagine, in the case of a woman.”

Scully wipes her brow and props her elbow on the back of the couch, leans her chin heavily on it, trying to weigh the risks of cardiac arrest against the blood-red slick of Stella’s bare lips, the martial artistry of her tongue. 

Stella opens her mouth and shows her the ice cube nestled into a little dip in the center of her tongue, so perfectly formed Scully wondered if aspects of this sexual trick were genetically enabled. 

“That’s about where I’d start,” she says. “And you just, you know…”

Scully laughs despite herself, despite the temperature, despite everything in the entire fucking world.

“Have I found something you find too provocative for you too talk about?”

“No. I just have an ice cube in my mouth, it’s very difficult.”

“Show me,” Scully blurts. “Just show me.”

Stella moves the ice cube to a position between her top and bottom teeth. She can maneuver words around it. She can maneuver a cock around it. She could maneuver the Mississippi River probably with an ice cube in her mouth. She’s hustling Scully and Scully knows it.

“Beg,” she says and the way the ice cube obstructs the B and the G, makes them bounce off Stella’s wet lips, produces results immediately.

“Please.”

Stella playfully looks up at the ceiling, sucks the ice cube like a lollipop a moment.

“Why did you even bring it up if you…” but the anger disappears into the puddle in her lap. “I’m begging you to do it to me.”

And then Stella tucks the cube back into her cheek and seems rather serious as she says, “No, I’m concerned about that heart thing, you’ve scared me.”

Scully puts her glass of water down on the coffee table so hard it splashes in the glass. She’s about to get up, but luckily it takes a little longer than usual and Stella has time to open her bathrobe, lean forward and grab her.

“Come here,” she says softly. Scully undoes her robe, rolls forward onto her knees, sails past the hand with the glass of Scotch in it. She is naked, on slightly stretched all fours, and asking for sex. She’d normally be self-conscious but she’s worked for this, for other things perhaps more noble to do with the race, but for this too, the look on someone’s face as they drink it all in and want it. There is no one better at drinking in a thing in and wanting it then Stella Gibson. She shares her lust visibly, tangibly, like a piece of good cinema, perfectly arranged mis en scene generously projected in high definition.

“Oh,” Scully says, realizing what’s being asked of her, wondering if her body will even cooperate with such a request. Stella slides further down onto the couch, lightly tugs Scully’s knees forward so that they brush her ears. Scully grabs the arm of the couch with both hands as Stella passes the rock of cold over her clitoris, then hides it somewhere in her mouth and changes it out for a hot, flat tongue in its wake. She does this with devoted attention to both hot and cold, balancing them prayerfully with the tip of her tongue. Scully swoons over her, bending at her previously aching hips, settling into the heat, chasing the cold like a finish line. Sweat drips down the entire length of her body into Stella’s mouth.

“Like that, basically,” Stella says, pushing Scully’s pelvis to rest on her chest.

“What? What are you doing?” Scully asks, breathless.

“I won’t have you dying naked on my couch. It was too expensive.”

Scully hastily climbs backward, straddles Stella and hovers over her face. 

“Tastes like you and Scotch,” Stella says as though someone has just invented the perfect cupcake flavor.

“Give it to me,” Scully says.

The kiss is a deep, open-mouthed, head just above water gasp of a kiss and the sofa springs bow beneath the energy they create and release.

Stella cups the side of Scully’s neck and presses each of her four long fingers into the bones at the base of her scalp. Her thumb circles the dip beneath Scully’s chin so gently it’s hard to believe it’s all part of the same hand. It is a mixture of hot and cold in there too, a rainbow of contrast, a black and white cookie, two opposingly delicious halves of the same thing. Scully has just about forgotten the point of the game when Stella passes the ice cube, places one foot firmly on the floor and Scully slides down to lie on her belly, feet kicked up behind her, unabashedly drawing attention to the sloped backs of her hamstrings, her currently impressive glutes, sinful pride in every point of her toes.

“Jesus Christ,” Stella says, “I want to lick you from your heels to your hairline.”

“Do, sometime,” Scully says and then curls the edges of her tongue around the cube like a napkin, trying to elongate what’s left to make it more useful, trying to make sure she’s not just going to swallow it.

“Learn by doing,” Stella encourages.

Stella holds her breath as Scully takes her first lick, drags the ice cube between Stella’s labia. Stella tenses with shock and Scully looks up, both unsettled and moved by the realization.

“You didn’t just mean you’ve never done it to a woman. You’ve never had it done to you either.”

“Ssh,” Stella says and rakes her hand through Scully’s hair, pulling her in close, demanding rather than begging for her tongue. Scully tries to hold her still but Stella inches back a bit over the armrest with every cold lick. Too sensitive, Scully thinks and knows she could never say this out loud. 

She takes the ice cube between her lips and penetrates Stella with it, slides it in all the way up to her lips and then leaves it off, lets it disappear between the clutch of Stella’s pelvic muscles, then resumes business as usual with her tongue, her bottom lip, the tip of her nose. Cold water drips down her chin as Stella fucks the ice cube into oblivion. Scully tries to lift her eyes, watches in awe as Stella controls her orgasm, dribbles it and draws it out, makes it last longer than her glass of Scotch. But usually, usually what puts her over the edge is something like –

Stella lifts her bare, impeccably shaved knee off the sofa beneath Scully, saddles it between Scully’s leg and glides her heel up and down the fabric. This bone, this human bone is of course harder than any vibrator, any dick, it is a bone which can withstand four hours and nine minutes of pounding, Scully thinks as she rides it.

Like that. That’s how Stella comes, Scully’s fingers wrapped around her hips and Scully’s pussy wrapped somewhere between her ankle and her knee, and the rest of Scully wrapped around her little finger.

Scully collapses, rests an ear on Stella’s stomach, fingertips at Stella’s hipbones, a curious eavesdropper at a wall. Stella reaches down and turns her face up so she can see her eyes.

“How’s your heart?”


End file.
